Notes

Kumon tutoring center was where joy came to die, I believed, because it was where I sat and waited two hours for my neighbor so his mom could drive us both home. I didn't have a phone then, and I had already read every book and brochure provided in the waiting room. I was a boisterous kid, but equally reserved in the presence of stangers. In the two hours I spent on the itchy chair, there was nothing left to do but listen.
Occasionally, an Indian woman would stop by with her small dog, Oreo, aptly named for his coloring. One day she sat down in the chair, dog squirming in her arms, and very loudly recounted her daughter's admission into UC Berkeley. I was in third grade and had no concept of universities and colleges as separate, distinct entities: college was an overarching phase of life in which everyone attended uniform institutions of the same caliber. I listened, vaguely, because it was all I could do. And then I listened, carefully, because the woman mentioned that her daughter had chosen to go to Berkeley because there were a lot of good restaurants near by. A blooming gastronome myself at that point, my interest was piqued. As children's attention spans are short, UC Berkeley and the enticing promise of easily accessible good food was forgotten on the car ride home. College did not come up often in elementary school, but when it did I remembered UC Berkeley. UC Berkeley became synonymous to college in my mind, as it was the first I had known and there was already one big benefit I had discovered to attending university there.